


charade

by euriele



Category: Red vs. Blue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-11 05:02:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2054646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euriele/pseuds/euriele
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Felix lied to you.</p><p>And by the time you figure that out, it's already too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	charade

**Author's Note:**

> okay so confessionforanothertime inspired this with a post she made.
> 
> link to post in notes at the end

Felix comes back alone.

He comes staggering back into the camp, tears and mud on his face and blood on his armour. He tells a tale of the captains' bravery, how he wasn't quick enough to save them. He says he was too late, that he barely escaped with his life.

That's when you lose hope, you realise.

You scream, you curse and you lash out; punch the wall until your knuckles crack and Palomo is screaming at you to stop. And there's blood on your hand and blood on the wall and tears on your cheeks but the pain feels good.

It's how you deal with grief. Screaming and punching; lashing out or doing something that's going to end with blood being drawn. It's how you reacted when your family was bombed, when your father was killed in the Great War. It's how you react now, now that your CO is officially pronounced KIA.

So you stare at the blood on your hand. Realise it's not enough.

Keep punching.

 

*

 

"Everything's changing," Palomo says one night.

The two of you are sat on the roof of the barracks, legs dangling over the edge and a case of beer between you. You've drank your way through three already, working your way to finishing a fourth. You snort in your can.

"Things have been changing for a while, kiddo," you say.

"Yeah well it feels like it's moving faster now."

You glance at Palomo, see him running his fingers around the rim of his can. He's still on his first. You frown, because normally he'd be able to keep up with you.

Then again, he's not been himself since Felix...

You sigh.

You pull the packet of cigarettes from you pocket. Pull one out, hold it between your lips and light it up. Palomo wrinkles his nose like he always does when you smoke. Another silence stretches on between you before he holds his hand out to you.

"Can I have one?"

Honestly, you're a little shocked, since Palomo never wanted to smoke. He always hated that you did it, used to tell you have unhealthy it was before he realised you weren't going to listen.

Then again, that was Palomo you met in the slums. That was a Palomo you knew before he lost his entire squad and his CO. That was a Palomo you knew before you got swept up in a war that's not even yours.

You hand him a cigarette and light it for him.

When he coughs on the smoke, you can't help but think he's right.

Everything's changing.

 

*

 

Peace talks break down.

Whatever Kimball had been hoping to achieve was taken from her grasp. Doyle, the head of the Federal Army, rejects her terms and she. in turn, rejects his.

When you first heard of the peace talks, you hoped some agreement would be made. You hoped this war would finally come to end and that you'd at least get out of it alive. You've had enough now. You've lost far too much and, really, you just want to get out of it with at least some part of your former life intact.

Then the talks break down and you lose that bit of hope.

What's the point in hoping these days when it just gets taken away?

 

*

 

You have nightmares now.

Your little brothers being blown apart; your father getting sliced in half by an Elite's energy sword; Locus, knife blade dripping with blood, slicing open the throat of your CO; Chance clinging to your leg as you leave home -

Your eyes snap open.

You never shout. Never. You wish you did, strangely. Because shouting would mean someone would wake you up and stop the nightmare before it escalates. Shouting means that whoever can hear you knows what's wrong and you don't have to explain. They'll understand, and they'll understand if you don't want to talk about it. They'll just be there for you whilst you try to slow your racing heart.

But you don't shout. Your eyes only snap open when the nightmare has run it's course. When you wake up, your hands are bunching up the sheets tightly and you're coated in sweat, breathing far too heavily. And Smith, in the bunk across from you, snores on.

You remember that he used to have nightmares. But he used to shout and scream and thrash until you shook him awake. You probably don't do much more than twitch once or twice.

Rub your eyes and sigh.

You need a drink.

 

*

 

It's Felix who finds you on the roof of the barracks, chugging your way through the crate you were meant to share with Palomo the night he started smoking. He sees you from the abandoned and useless radio tower he uses as his quarters and makes his way over.

"Kimball's gonna kick your ass, finding out you're drinking," Felix says.

"You got the damn beer for me," you growl, popping open another one. Is it your fourth or fifth?

Who cares?

Felix snorts. "I suppose I did."

He sits beside you, takes one of the beers and opens it. You eye him, look at each of his dozens of tattoos in turn and the bits of silver poking out of his ears and nose and lips. He's a lot skinnier that you'd imagine him to be, and looks a little older than he sounds. It's hard to imagine this guy killing people.

"Do you give a shit about us?" you find yourself asking.

"What?"

"Do you give a shit about any of us?" You gesture to the base. "Y'know, us New Republic kids. Do you care, or are you just in it for the money?"

He considers it for a few moments. "Both."

"Both?"

"Yeah, both. I care about you guys, and I care about the money."

You think about that before you shrug. "Whatever."

 

*

 

He lied to you.

You find that out a week later, when you're on your knees in the middle of the compound with the other lieutenants, surrounded by the bodies of New Republic soldiers. You can't see Locus or Kimball, and you can hear someone talking over the radio about her. Felix stands before you whilst his mercenary friends hold rifles to your heads.

"We should just kill these ones," one of the merc's say. The nudge the back of your head with their rifle. You can feel your heartbeat in your throat.

"Nah," Felix says. His helmet's off. He looks to you; there's a grin on his face. You glare back. "We leave these ones. They can tell the others what's happened here when they come."

"Locus can't find Kimball," one of the mercs - the one who was talking over the radio - says, stepping forwards.

"She's here," Felix insists. "She wouldn't just leave."

You and Smith glance at each other.

"Well, Locus can't find her."

The look on Felix's face changes. "Okay then."

He grabs Jensen by her hair and pulls her forwards. You see red and shout out. Move, try and push past the mercs and get to Felix and your crying friend. A merc moves, brings their foot up and kicks you square in the jaw, knocking you back.

Palomo shouts out. You see him struggling against the mercs holding him back through your tears. Smith is flat on his back, a merc standing over him with their boot planted firmly in the middle of his chest. The mercenary who hit you stands behind you, rifle pressed against the back of your head. Your heartbeat quickens.

"Kimball!" Felix shouts, loading his pistol. He snaps the magazine into place, clicks the safety off. "You got ten seconds to get out here."

He aims at the back of Jensen's head. "Or, I kill your little lieutenant."

You make a choking sound.

"Ten," Felix says. Jensen's shaking. You can hear her sobbing. "Nine -"

Kimball walks out of the barracks.

You're amazed it only took her two seconds.

Felix is grinning as he walks forwards, leaving Jensen crying on the ground. Kimball walks forwards slowly, arms over her head and helmetless. You can see the glare on her face, the hatred in her eyes as she approaches the man you all once trusted. She has to step over the bodies of her soldiers as she approaches him, has to be careful not to slip on the blood that runs thick like a river through the mud.

She comes to a stop before Felix, makes eye contact with you for a second before looking at him again. "Listen, just let them -"

The bullet flies through her forehead midsentence. Jensen screams.

You stare as your commander as she falls, dead before she even hits the ground. Felix's arm never raised. He never shot her.

Locus uncloaks behind Felix's left shoulder just as he's lowering his pistol.

You charge at him.

You don't know why you charge at him. You just know you're so angry, so angry that you just need to wrap your hands around his neck and strangle the life out of him for killing your Commander. So you run flat out at him, hear the mercenary who was stood behind you shout out. There's no shots though, because they want to keep you guys alive for some reason.

You don't reach Locus. Felix's fist connects with your nose before you do and you fall flat on the ground, blood running from your nose down your cheeks and into your hair.

"Idiot," Felix snorts when you go flat in the mud.

"Traitor," you spit back.

"Was that meant to hurt?" Felix says. He stands over you, a glare on his face. "Sorry for not falling to my knees and begging for forgiveness."

"We trusted you."

"Aw, you're making me cry."

"Felix." It's Locus. Felix's head snaps up to look at his partner. "They're incoming."

Felix is grinning again. "Time to go, I guess."

He looks back down at you, cocks his head to the side. Then his foot connects with your stomach and you grunt, curl in on yourself as Palomo shouts out.

The mercenaries huddle together. There's a flash of orange light so bright you have to close your eyes. When you open them again, the mercenaries are gone and you're left in your empty base surrounded by bodies and blood.

 

*

 

Jensen refuses to leave Kimball's body. Long after the mercenaries leave, she sits with your Commander's body and cries. She just cries. She doesn't scream or curse like you would. She just clutches the front of Kimball's chest plate, presses her head down against it and cries. You remember the girl you met in basic training, the girl with cat earrings and a smile brighter than the sun. There's no trace of that girl now as she sits with her Commander, Smith kneeling down beside her with his hands across her shoulders.

He's not said a word. He hasn't said much since the death of the captains, but now he's as good as mute. He whispers no words of comfort to Jensen like he normally would. He just sits with his arm around her, obviously in shock.

Palomo feels sick. He crouches down behind the barracks, vomits until he's dry heaving and still doesn't stop. You have to go get him a canteen of water and force him to take sips from it before he can finally stop. Even then, he sits with his head between his knees and the water by his side, just breathing heavily and forcing himself not to look at the bodies.

And you?

You collect dog tags.

What else is there to do now? You're not going to wallow in grief like Jensen and Smith; you're not going to throw up like Palomo; you're not going to punch the walls over and over until your knuckles crack again.

You're going to collect dog tags.

You walk to each body in turn, close their eyes and retrieve their tags. Soon, there's dozens of them hanging from your wrists. You have to go get a bag to fit all the chains in. Some bodies were blown apart by C4, so you have to search for their tags amidst the blood and body parts. It's a disgusting job and your hands are coated in blood up to your elbows. But you keep going, keep digging through bodies and collecting tags.

You come across Matthews' body, abdomen blown open so that his guts are on display to you. You have to steel yourself; you have to kneel down and breathe, just breathe, because you saw this kid less than ten hours ago and the two of you sat together and smoked. Now he's dead, you're alive and you need to collect his dog tags. His eyes are wide open and glassed over. His mouth hangs open slightly, a thin stream of blood running from the left corner. He looks young, too young; fuck, he's still got acne on his chin and right cheek. You fish his tags out when you finally get your hands to stop shaking.

He was nineteen.

You feel sick.

You don't put his tags in the bag. You put them around your neck.

 

*

 

It's Palomo who sees the group coming into camp. He's finally able to stand up, and he sees them coming out of the cave entrance. He shouts to you, where you're knelt over the body of a girl - Claire Yaeger-Johnson, twenty-two - and points to the cave entrance. You glance over, see the rainbow coloured entourage walking out of the cave and you're on guard immediately. Close Claire's hazel eyes and stand up, her dog tags in one hand and the rattling bag in the other.

"Stay there," you call to Palomo, who's stood beside Smith and Jensen, still sat with Kimball's body. "Just in case."

You see him nod. Take a deep breath and make your way down the hill.

It's hard-pressed to make your way down, what with the bodies and the blood that hasn't yet congealed. You've already slipped once or twice making your way around the bodies to collect tags. You're soaked in mud, blood and sweat, and you probably look like some crazed serial killer. But honestly, you couldn't give two shits, could you? What's there to care about when you've got nothing left?

When you're halfway down the hill, you see the orange soldier. You see the guy in maroon beside him, the soldier in turquoise walking not too far behind. You see the lumbering dude in blue armour with the familiar Mark V helmet and you realise exactly who they are and why Felix left you and the lieutenants alive. You realise he lied to you that day three weeks ago, when he came stumbling into camp with blood on his armour and panic in his eyes. You realise they've been alive this whole time.

And they didn't come back.

So when you meet them halfway down the hill, your hands are shaking. Not from shock this time, but from anger. And you can feel the shouts building up in your chest, all the words bubbling up to the surface to the point where you can barely stop yourself from screaming at them.

But it's not you who speaks first. It's the leader - a person in turquoise armour with a recon helmet. "What the hell happened here?"

A woman.

"What d'you think happened?" you say. You practically spit the words. The bag in your hands is rattling. "Take an educated guess."

"Bitters."

It's Grif who speaks this time. Grif, in his orange armour that looks the same as the day he abandoned you here. Grif, who didn't bother to come back and help you. Grif, who did nothing, like always.

At least you can rely on your CO for being predictable.

"What happened?" Grif repeats.

You snap.

"What the fuck do you think happened?" you scream, throwing your arms out. Grif actually jumps back and the woman looks as if she's about to tackle you. "We got fucking attacked! We got attacked and now everyone's dead!"

The woman's hand is on the pistol at her hips. "Listen -"

"No, you fucking listen!" Everyone seems shocked when you round on her. "We've believed you were dead for three weeks! Three weeks, and Felix has been here this whole time, pretending that everything's okay and that he's been our friend this entire time. Where the fuck have you been, hm? You've been off doing fuck knows what whilst Felix let his little band of mercenaries into the camp so that they could slaughter everyone but us!"

No one moves until you upend the bag of dog tags onto the ground. You're sure you can see the woman's hands shaking as the tags fall out onto the dirt.

You toss the empty bag aside. "That's not even all them. I haven't gotten around to everyone yet. And some people were blown apart, so I can't find their tags."

You see Tucker, standing at the back with a soldier in grey and yellow, wince.

"Bitters -"

"Get away from me," you spit when Grif tries to approach you. "Don't come anywhere fucking near me. You had three weeks to come back and help us."

Simmons stepped forwards. "We were waiting for the right moment to -"

" _THE RIGHT MOMENT?_ "

You're sure no one here, alive or dead, has ever heard you shout that loud. You've been nothing but apathetic the entire time you were with the New Republic, except for the day you lost your family. That's the only time you showed emotion. And now you're breaking down, falling to pieces in the wake of your rage.

"The right moment was three weeks ago!" you bellow. Simmons shrinks back. You can see Caboose curl in on himself, a doctor in Federal Army armour hang her head. "The right moment was when Felix told us you were dead! You should've come back there and then, told us he was wrong so we could avoid seeing the entire army being slaughtered before us!

"While you were waiting for the right moment, we lost everyone. Matthews is dead. Ganoosh and Greene are dead. Fuck, _Kimball_ is dead because you were waiting for _the right fucking moment!_ "

There's a heavy silence that follows. You're breathing heavily, red in the face with tears stinging your eyes. You don't stop them from falling. You take a deep breath, kneel down and start collecting the dog tags in the bag again. You're still holding Claire's. You add hers to the pile.

"Bitters, we're sorry we didn't come back sooner," the woman says.

You snort.

"We're truly are. But there's something you need to know."

You put the last of tags in the bag. Stand up, glare at the woman. "What do I need to know?"

"This civil war is a charade," the woman says. You feel your heart drop into your stomach. "The team of mercenaries that Felix is part of orchestrated this civil war so that they could trick the two sides into slaughtering one another. After that, they were going to take the planet for themselves. This entire war was a smokescreen."

The colour's drained from your face. You look down at your hands, painted red with blood, and you can feel the bile rising up your throat. You manage to swallow it down, however. You clench your fists, breathe in. _In, 2-3-4. Out, 2-3-4._

"Bitters?"

You look up at her. "A charade?"

She nods.

You look back at the bodies in the dirt, the blood drying up. "A charade."

You look at Jensen and Smith, still crouched beside Kimball whilst Palomo stands over them, looking from you to them and back again.

"Charade."

Who's died for this charade?

Your mother. Your brothers. Matthews. Kimball. Commander Stark. Commander Humbert. Commander Hardy. All 400 soldiers stationed here. Hundreds and hundreds more out in the field. God knows how many Feds.

A charade.

"FUCK!"

You kick out, kick over the crates stacked nearby. You slam your first into the wall, and each time it connects with the concrete, you think about who's died.

Mother, Chance, Eliot, the twins, Matthews, Kimball, even _Claire_.

Eventually you stop, press your forehead to the wall and just sob.

That's all there's left to do.

**Author's Note:**

> link to post:  
> http://confessionforanothertime.tumblr.com/post/93317934154/the-lieutenants-believing-the-reds-and-blues-to-be
> 
> follow me on tumblr!: laverniustcker.tumblr.com


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